Hot and Cold
by LaDyFiCtIoN
Summary: Yuriy knows that life is a cold place, and as much as he enjoys the frosty, artic weather of Russia, even he still craves some warmth. [[YuBo WAVE!2]]


YuBo WAVE!2 

**Entry **#5.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing.

**-Hot and Cold- **

Russia's weather never forgave anyone.

It was always cruel and unchanging. The winds howled louder than the wolves and the storm clouds renewed the pristine white blanket of the ground, almost every day. From the inside, the falling of the snow was beautiful, even when the wicked streams spun the flakes and did not allow them to find comfort with the others. But outside, whether mammal of human, the climate was relentless and let no one escape, unscathed.

Yuriy loved the snow. He was born into a cold world and never expected any less from the weather. He fought against the winds even though he would never win and allied himself with the snow, as it created a warm and numb feeling inside his chest. The ice was never kind to him and he cursed its existence, just as many had done the same, for his.

The beyblader spent hours outside, each day, spinning his top against the elements. They made him strong. It makes him weak, until he is frozen inside, and only then does he become powerful, when he has lost touch with the world or the ability to touch or feel anything. The weather eventually takes its toll on his body and he is forced to submit to his limitations but every day, they slowly expand themselves and he spends more and more time outdoors.

Boris was instructed to fetch his captain but as he arrived at the back exit and opened the thick metal door, the redhead had already returned. The storm outside had not treated him any differently. Yuriy stumbled inside to the warmth, as it drew him in. His blue eyes glanced the steely pair but the exchange was brief. When he could no longer hear the howls of the wind, his body pressed into the wall and slowly sank to the floor.

The storm was sublime and Yuriy could never beat the chaotic presence of nature but every day, he returned with a triumphant smile. Boris watched him, the exhausted presence supported only by the wall. He carefully crouched down and when their eyes met for the second time, Boris felt a chill run down his spine. Yuriy smiled at him, but the content curve was not directed at him.

Boris hated the cold. He too grew up within its chilling confines but unlike his captain, he detested the frost and agonizing pain it inflicted. Russia was his home, but even so, he still loathed it and abhorred the snow. It was so pure and yet fluttered down from such violent and truculent skies.

''You're frozen.'' Boris suddenly stated, as Yuriy shivered.

His flesh slowly began to regain its coloring and flush a bright red, as the warmth from inside caressed his skin. It seemed as though Yuriy had not noticed though; he had not paid attention to Boris, nor the heat spreading throughout his core. The numb sensation was fading and he knew that it was finally gone, when he could once again feel.

Boris had taken his gloveless fingers and held them tightly within his own. The cold stung his warm hands and even when Yuriy tried to pull them away, his hold insisted. Yuriy sighed to himself and looked down to the cement floor. He was aware that Boris' gestures meant that someone, who would punish him, for his reckless behavior outdoors, was most likely waiting for a report.

After a long, dragged out moment of silence, Boris let go of Yuriy's hands and began to brush the snow out of his hair and from his clothes. Yuriy took the time to remove his jacket, as it was damp and rub his own arms, now that his palms were warm. Boris however, had noticed Yuriy's blood red ears and once again, as he touched there, it burned his own hands and there was protest.

A knowing glare silenced Yuriy and he sat there, as both hands were pressed to his ears. Boris' wrists contoured his face; nevertheless, it continued to look downwards. He knew better than to resist the care he was receiving. Boris was not acting out of care but because he was concerned. The last time Yuriy fought the storm, he returned pale, with bluing lips. He had been gravely ill.

There was never a leash around his neck, restriction his motions but he was often reprimanded for crossing certain boundaries. Yuriy had smiled throughout the whole ordeal though- his sickness was his reward for a long and arduous battle. He rested and built up his strength, for their next duel. However, he also knew that his foolish actions would not be tolerated a second time.

''So reckless…'' Boris scolded in a whisper, barely audible, as he frowned.

His hands guided Yuriy's visage up to look at him, as he cupped both rosy cheeks. Boris was unaffected by his gesture; he thought nothing if it, but Yuriy was obviously bothered. His lips were parted, as if to speak, but he said nothing. The silver eyes staring at him were intimidating and his cold, icy eyes were no longer strong and frozen. His stern regard had melted into calm pools of water.

''I know…'' Yuriy finally said, as he acknowledged his strength and weakness.

Boris stood and helped his captain back up to his feet. Their eyes and hands parted, as they stood evenly, in the silent hallways of the Abbey. Boris nodded his head, a sign that he was about to walk away, when a murmured thought stopped him and coaxed his ears into listening.

''I know you don't care Boris, but…thank you…''

Boris turned and Yuriy stepped up to him and pressed into his body. It felt much hotter than his hands and the heat that soon enveloped his shoulders was soothing. Yuriy always found comfort, in the cold storms but when they passed and he regained his senses, he was glad that they found comfort in the hot embrace, which only Boris ever gave to him.

**-EndE-**


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